


The Bloody Truth

by NeonGriffon



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I haven't decided how slashy this will be, M/M, Non-Consensual, Ok looks like it is pretty slashy, Roman is angsty, Still fluffy though, Wait...is it really fluffy or am I just messed up? I don't know, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4636140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonGriffon/pseuds/NeonGriffon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman has fully become what he was always meant to be, the monster he always feared he was. Peter finds him in a blood-covered hotel room and tries to comfort him. But how to help someone who has become a monster... literally? AU starting at the beginning of the second season. Romancek, with non-con elements. No actual rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, this is an AU taking place at the beginning of the second season. Just pretend that the second season started off like this rather than the way that it actually did :) Rating might change depending on what the characters make me do. EDIT - Yep, rating changed to explicit.

                It stinks. Everything stinks of it. Blood. Coppery, sticky blood like syrup dashed against walls, furniture, floors. The room was once relatively spotless but now bore no resemblance to its former incarnation. It was as if someone had broken in and transformed the once- tidy hotel room into a gruesome butcher shop.

                Monstrous. It was the only word for it. Peter had to quench his gag reflex just from stepping into the room, and his gag reflex was normally air-tight. He was used to the stench of bodily fluids. Sweat, urine and blood would hit his nose at extreme levels while he was a wolf. Even in human form his nose was more adept than the average non-werewolf. He had gotten used to smelling the world in ultra high-definition, but this was different. This wasn't the smell of blood rushing through tiny veins beneath tight skin, this was blood which had been released violently from those veins. The smell was different. Once it hit the air it turned putrid almost instantaneously. Rancid. It was tinged with a scent like cancer. Tinged with death.

                Beside him, Destiny puked onto the blood-flecked carpet. She wasn't used to anything like this either. Despite her less-than-ordinary proclivities that occasionally involved the blood and organs of the dead, it still couldn't have prepared her for this incredible onslaught of stench.

                And perhaps it wasn't only the smell that had disarmed her. After all, between the two of them, Peter was getting the brunt of the odor. It was the sight of the mess, as well, that caused the two of them such a struggle. It was as if someone had sauntered into the hotel room and proceeded to throw gallons upon gallons of red paint upon the walls, straight from the buckets and onto the off-white coating. Never worrying about the brownish-red puddles that collected upon the beige carpet below. Except that the paint wasn't paint. It was blood. More than Peter had ever seen in his life.

                And in the middle of it all was Roman. He sat, on the stained queen-sized bed, with the unfocused gaze somewhere between a madman and a mental patient. His mouth was stained in red. Blood covered the entirety of his chin and dripped down onto his expensive white shirt. The shirt had a jagged rip down the collar as if it had been grabbed during a struggle.

                A struggle had definitely taken place, although Peter had no doubt that Roman had ever really been on the losing side. Three girls and a man lay horizontal and broken on the blood-soaked carpet. From the way they were dressed, cheap hookers and their pimp. All four sported gruesome gashes on their necks, skin torn away to expose muscle and sinew.

                _'How had he...'_ Peter's mind whirred. Of course he knew what had happened... he had known what Roman was far before Roman did. But his observations about what Roman was and the reality of the situation now couldn't match up in his mind. Roman had always wanted to be the good guy... so how had he been able to murder four people in cold blood? It didn't seem possible.

                "I told you..." Destiny spat beside him, her voice low and quivering. "We need to get out of here. Now."

                Peter barely heard her. Could barely feel as her hand pried at his sleeve and tugged him toward the door. He could only stare at Roman in disbelief. Stare at the shine of wet blood covering his mouth, searching for any sign of a swelling behind his lips that would indicate the deadly upir teeth. If they had been there, _which they had,_ they seemed to be gone now. Swallowed up in the same way that Peter's own form was swallowed up whenever he became human again.

                Roman never even turned his head, he just... stared out into nothingness. Was he even aware that he was no longer alone in the room? He had to know they were there... didn't he?

                "Peter!" Destiny shrieked, no longer worried about keeping her voice down. Her only concern was in getting herself and her cousin out alive. Her grip moved from his sleeve to his shoulder. Fisting her hand into the cracking leather of his coat, she tried to yank him backward but he didn't move.

                "He'd never hurt us... that's not who he is..." Peter's voice trailed off, unfocused. He took a step forward, toward the bed.

                Destiny laughed but the sound held no pleasure. "You mean the guy who just _murdered_ four fucking people?" Her voice was becoming more and more flustered. "I know who you _want_ him to be. That doesn't mean that he is!"

                "You don't know him!" Peter shot back, the vaguest flecks of tears hiding at the corners of his eyes.

                "And you do?! You knew he was capable of this? We're getting out of here, now!"

                He whipped around to face her, the action sudden and abrupt. Staring into her face... a face more familiar than anyone, save for his mother, he focused his words. Focused his lie. "He's always been capable of this. But he's never been capable of killing me. Ever." He stepped toward her. Now his hands were on her shoulders and he pushed her backwards, toward the open door. "I need to do this, but you have to wait outside. He doesn't know you like I do. I'll be fine."

                She was across the threshold of the door now, an expression something between anger and fear and resentment plastered onto her face. "I swear to God if you end up murdered, I will kill you," she spat. Peter smiled, his stubbled cheeks turning upward. He kissed her quietly on the forehead before shutting the door on her still- apprehensive expression.

                The second the door clicked into place, his smile fell. What he had told her about Roman... it hadn't entirely been true. In some ways, the upir had always been capable of killing, yes, but only in the sense that Roman was an upir and upirs killed. _Roman_ himself, however, hadn't been capable of killing. Not the Roman that Peter knew, at least. Something had changed in the last few months, and it wasn't only his friend discovering what he was. There was more to it than that. And Peter didn't know what _this_ Roman was capable of.

                There was a time when Peter would have sprinted to his friend's side. A rush in his step to check that Roman was ok. But not today. Today, Peter took his steps one at a time, cautiously like he so often did in wolf-form. He felt his senses heighten and knew the reason why. The wolf realized it was in danger and was allowing it's other form to borrow them.

                His nose was picking up more than just blood now, although the coppery scent was still the single-most pungent odor in the room. As he got closer to Roman, a faint whiff of something like gasoline mixed with ether hit his nose. Cocaine. A surge of anger started to rise in his chest... the OD... the coma... it hadn't taught Roman anything! But as quickly as the anger rose did it begin to quell for there was another scent, one that brought Peter back to better days... or at least better days than this.

                Roman's stupid-ass expensive shampoo, which the young Godfrey had never failed to douse his head in daily. The smell had always reminded Peter of some kind of frilly boutique, far different than the Suave or Head & Shoulders he had grown up with. The "frilly boutique shampoo" had amused him at first, and eventually evolved into a good-natured taunt between the two of them.

                He didn't realize until now just how much he had missed it. He'd almost forgotten... how could he have forgotten? If Peter had felt safe enough, he would have closed his eyes, just for a second... and breathed it in. The scent of a time he would have done anything to get back.

                But he couldn't risk it. Not yet, not until he could understand what was going on with Roman. Until he knew he was safe. For as much as he wanted to believe that he was, the wolf warned him that he wasn't.

                There was an edge to Roman, and it wasn't just the obvious. The blood smeared down his chin... the vacant look that still hadn't met Peter's own gaze. Peter could smell that too. He could smell the adrenaline and the testosterone and the cortisol pouring out of Roman like steam rising from water. He could smell the fear that Roman himself was trying to suppress. The indication of fear didn't lure Peter into any false sense of calm because the wolf knew what fear really was. Fear meant unpredictability.

                There was another scent that he couldn't identify at all, something he'd never come across before. For all he knew, it was the whiff of upir. Roman didn't have it before, but he also didn't have the teeth.

                Two more steps and he'd reach the tall boy who sat hunched on the bed. He took the first step. No movement from Roman whatsoever. No turn of the head or shifting of green eyes. No sound except for the steady heartbeat pounding hypnotically from beneath the ripped white shirt. It beat slowly, slower than Peter's own heart, which was currently racing. The steadiness of it betrayed and contradicted the anxiety that the werewolf could smell emanating from Roman. He couldn't understand it. The wolf inside his head was baring its fangs. He ignored it.

                One step further. Roman was a perfect statue. As if he had been cast in stone and then placed in the middle of the bloody mess like the centerpiece to the most fucked up piece of art ever. Only the faintest hint of his chest rising and falling... the tiniest muscle spasm in his neck... the quiver of his bottom lip... miniscule bits of proof that he wasn't stone.

                In one more step and Peter would be right up next to the bed - and right beside the ex-friend who sat facing the back of the room, staring into nothingness. Stopping, Peter looked down at an half empty can of Pepsi, standing upright on the short stained carpet as if nothing at all had happened. With half a glance in Roman's direction, he gave the can a swift kick, launching it through the air and sending it smashing into the wall directly in front of the upir. Dark sugary soda splattered in an airborne trail. The gypsy had his eyes focused on the other boy, hoping for some hint of a reaction. _Something_ that would give him some indication that Roman was aware he was there. Not a muscle moved. The upir stayed perfectly still.

                Peter sighed. There was no turning back. He wasn't about to abandon Roman yet again. It just would have been nice to know whether or not he was venturing into a situation he'd be able to venture back out of again. He took one more step.

                For several seconds, his nostrils were once again consumed with that stupid shampoo. He hated how much he loved it, how completely it was able to take him back in time to a place he missed more than he had even realized. Roman still wasn't moving but Peter could almost pretend that things were right back where they used to be. That none of this bullshit the last few months had happened. That nothing had changed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting himself just _be._

                "You're acting pretty gay right now." The voice came out of nowhere and startled Peter, pulling him out of his nostalgia. It took him a second to put together the fact that Roman was actually talking. The upir turned his head slightly, just enough to shift his eyes coyly upward in Peter's direction. "Which I guess is cool, but you might want to tone down once we're out in public." He flashed a lopsided grin, albeit still coated in blood.

                Peter wanted to punch him and hug him at the same time. He refrained from either, instead opting to fish a handkerchief awkwardly from his pocket and hold it out to the boy in front of him. As thrilled as he was that Roman was still Roman, he was less excited about the vast amount of murder victim blood covering his face.

                "For your... mouth," he explained, hesitating only slightly.

                Roman raised an eyebrow. He took the handkerchief without really looking at it and just held it there in the air. For a second, he lost the brief smile and his face fell back into the state of an expressionless void. But it was only for a second.

                He stood up, dropping Peter's handkerchief on the bed. His face contorted into something between rage and despair. "I've got to wash this off."

                Peter watched him rush into the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind him, save for an inch or so where the light shone through. The latch hadn't clicked entirely into place and Peter could still make out the frantic movements of Roman at the sink. The faucets were on full-tilt and he was fervently scrubbing at his face with wet hands.

                The young gypsy had dropped onto the bed the moment that Roman left the room. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, staring at the crack in the door and nervously rubbing at his own face, an unconscious sympathetic reaction. His right knee bounced up and down beneath his arm anxiously.

                After a while, with the water still gushing in the other room, he took the opportunity to look at the room. _Really_ look at it, unlike the short glances he had taken when he first arrived. The place was a dump. The type of seedy motel that he and Lynda would stay at when they were on the move and without a couch to bum. Certainly not somewhere that a person with money would choose to stay. But of course, Roman's expensive taste never came into play here. He needed a victim.

                Or... victims, apparently.

                Why so many? Four corpses littered the floor of this sleazy dive, their skin so pale that they were practically translucent. Roman hadn't just taken a taste of each, he had drained every last one of them! _Was that normal?_ His knowledge on upirs wasn't great, Destiny would be a better source of informa....

                _Shit. Destiny._ Peter shot up, turning on his heels to face the front door. _Was she still there?_ With one quick look behind him at the bathroom - door still shut, water still running - he made his way across the blood-soaked precipice.

                She was still standing there when he opened the door, arms crossed and jaw clenched. It had taken all of her willpower not to come barging back inside after him, he could tell by the look on her face. She didn't say anything, just raised her eyebrows as if asking for an explanation.

                "It's cool," Peter informed her. "It's still him, he's just a little..."

                "Incredibly fucked up and dangerous?"

                He didn't know how to respond to that. Scratching the back of his head uneasily, he leaned against the doorframe and sighed. She wasn't going to let up about it, but he knew she couldn't be here when Roman came back out of the bathroom. Just in case. "I have to stay here for awhile."

                Now it was Destiny's turn to sigh. "I know you do."

                "You do?"

                "Against my own better judgment, I'm not going to beat the shit out of you and drag you back to the car. And it's not because I don't think he's dangerous, because I DO..." - she emphasized the last two words with a swift slug to Peter's side - "but because I know he's not going to hurt you."

                Peter choked back an "ow" as he rubbed his left ribs tenderly, but did so with his characteristic smirk. Her reaction had left him happily surprised. "And what about you?"

                She gave him a brief hug, slipping his keys from his pocket before backing up into the dark parking lot. "I'm gonna take this shitty car of yours, and hopefully make it back to my place without it breaking down on me."

                "And I'm supposed to get home how?" he asked, his voice portraying both cynicism as well as amusement.

                "I'm sure you'll find a way." Her back was turned to him now and she was fumbling with the lock in the door of the rusty truck.

                "Hey," Peter called out. He knew Roman was going to be out of the bathroom any second and time was of vast importance, but he couldn't get her uncharacteristic reaction to the upir out of his mind. "What makes you trust him with me now? What changed?"

                The key finally granted her access to the dodgy lock and she opened the truck's door. Turning around with one hand resting on the rusty door, she didn't even hesitate in her answer. "I was spying on you from the cracks of the window of course." Peter let out a laugh, but she continued. "I just had to make sure."

                "Make sure what?"

                She leapt up into the truck. "That he still looked at you that same way that he used to. And he did, so I knew."

                Peter's eyes grew wide. He felt his hand on the back of his head again, a nervous habit. Why was he nervous? He wasn't sure. "Knew?"

                She smiled in a way that he couldn't quite read. _Was she happy or was she scared?_ Her words came out stilted as if she were giving a reading to someone who's future looked both like a gift and a curse simultaneously. "That he's completely in love with you."


	2. Chapter 2

The water was still running in the bathroom when Peter stepped back inside the dimly lit hotel room and closed the heavy door behind him. The roar of a car engine revved outside, slightly angry as if being woken up from a deep sleep. The squeal of old tires and bad brakes. The sound of Destiny driving away from whatever mess this was that Peter had willingly stepped back into. 

And the mess wasn't just the quadruple homicide currently sprawled across the carpet.

His cousin's words permeated throughout his head. 'He's completely in love with you.' 

It wasn't as though he didn't know Roman was more-or-less smitten with him, although he had assumed from the get-go that it was something more akin to a crush. A slightly obsessive, occasionally neurotic, weird fixation from a boy who couldn't be judged by normal standards anyway. Sure, he could be a bit... different around Peter but he was different by all other comparisons. You couldn't be born into a life like that and come out of it a perfect representation of society.

But love? Destiny had to be wrong. Roman couldn't love anything, it wasn't in his blood. Not that Peter blamed him for it. It wasn't his fault any more than it was his fault for the way the townspeople hated him because of his parentage. Roman was Roman and that was that. 

Halfway satisfied with his assessment of the situation, Peter could shove Destiny's words into the back of his mind and deal with the matter at hand. 

Or try to, at least. What was he supposed to do with all of this? Four dead people laid out in an uneven line, half of their blood spilled out onto cheap hotel carpet and the other half currently clogging up Roman's veins. Or digesting... or whatever the fuck happened once consumed by an upir. He scratched the back of his head again, frowning.

And why was Roman still in the bathroom? 

Peter began to grow nervous once again, although this time for an entirely different reason. Not for self-preservation reasons, but out of concern for his friend. The door was still mostly closed, the sound of water could still be heard. Although now that he was paying attention, the flow of water seemed... different now. 

Fucking hell. His hand froze, mid-scratch, on the back of his head. Fingers closed onto a tuft of his own brunette hair, ripping at it in aggravation. He had been so engrossed in the conversation outside, and then so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed that things had gone from bad to worse. 

It wasn't just the change in sound. Water flowing from a sink faucet and then moving into a shower faucet wasn't anything to get excited about normally. But there was something more. Something that didn't feel right, as if the energy in the room had changed... his wolf senses were still on, and they were telling Peter a story.

He began to race for the bathroom, tripping over someone's abandoned high heeled shoe in the process. He toppled to the right for just a second before catching himself on a bedside table. Without skipping a beat, he corrected and was back on track with barely a missed second. Where he hadn't been paying attention before, now it was all he could smell. Wafting through the air was the scent of anguish, of desolation. He would never had known if it wasn't for the wolf. Strange irony.

Peter reached the door and threw it open, grateful that Roman had been too preoccupied to lock it. Practically falling into the tiny room he gripped onto the back of the door handle for leverage and wheeled himself around till he was facing the shower.

Water doused the floors in front of the shower, where Roman stood, fully clothed and staring up at the nozzle as if it were the face of God. He hadn't bothered to close the curtain, which explained the puddles of water quickly collecting on the tile below. 

Several streams of clear water drained like tiny liquid towers down from Roman's hair. Normally lighter in color than it was now, his now-drenched hair was instead a dark chocolate hue that reminded Peter of the dark mud that he so loved to race through in his other form. Roman's impossibly blue eyes remained focused up at the shower nozzle, contrasting the darkening hair. The sight was as equally beautiful as it was terrifying. Peter had to shake his head to disengage his roaming thoughts.

When he was able to speak, the words that erupted from his mouth called out, "What the fuck are you doing?" and he rushed to the tub. Peter's tennis shoes hit the collected puddles with something resembling an awkward elegance. He didn't slip on the slick floor, although he did teeter in both directions before correcting himself. 

It wasn't until Peter was only inches away that Roman seemed to notice he was there. He opened his eyes wider and turned them toward his friend, blue gaping orbs that stared into Peter's own eyes with a plea that begged release from the tumultuous Hell he was currently enveloped in. "Peter," he whispered in a breathy tone, before partially collapsing.

Peter hadn't even realized he was in the tub until he noticed that Roman's head lay bowed on his shoulder, short breaths panting down his chest and wet hair soaking his jacket. It had been instinct. One second Roman had started to fall, and the next second Peter was there with him. He didn't even remember leaping over the ivory precipice and stopping Roman before he collapsed completely, but as if propelled by intuition alone, here he was.

"It's ok," was all the gypsy could figure to say. He brushed his fingers through the wet hair currently soaking into his clothes. It didn't matter. The shower's flow had completely drenched his back anyway. The leather coat would probably be ruined but fuck if Peter cared. Objects were just objects, but people were people. And Roman is Roman. He could feel the stream pelt against his back with the tumultuous force that only a cheap showerhead can provide, but he barely registered it. 

Roman took a breath and whispered something into the air that he couldn't quite hear. "What?"

"It's not ok," the upir breathed. "It's not."

"Shhhh," Peter responded because he didn't know what else to say. 

The two of them stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity. Roman leaning into Peter's chest, his fingers stretching out and curling in repeatedly, wanting to take hold of the boy currently bracing him up but unable to justify it. 

The gypsy closed his eyes and sighed, resting his chin on the wet hair below him - that scent of familiar shampoo - before turning to lay his cheek on Roman's head instead. He softly nuzzled into the boy. An unconscious wolf instinct to rub his own scent onto his claim. He didn't look at it like that of course. Peter, as a human knew he didn't really own anything in the world, least of all a person. Least of all Roman. All he knew was that he liked Roman and he liked being close to Roman, and the wolf took care of the rest. His left hand was still entangled in the other boy's hair, fingers combing through the strands gently. His right arm curled around the upir's back in a loose embrace. 

It wasn't often that Peter stood taller than his friend. Naturally several inches higher, Roman was usually a commanding force just from height alone but not tonight. Tonight he was tiny. Slumped, wilted and lost he slouched against Peter and cried hot tears into his friend's shirt. He hoped the other boy wouldn't be able to distinguish the tears from the water from the shower. It would be just one more mistake in an ocean of monstrous disasters. 

Peter knew, of course. His wolf senses still on alert, he could pick up the salt from the tears. But he knew better than to talk about it. 

When Roman finally pulled away he couldn't look into his friend's eyes. The delicate skin around his own eyes were puffy and slightly red, and he sniffed slightly. "I don't want to be this," he stated as if it were some kind of conclusion. His mouth was red. Rubbed raw, the attempts to scour the blood away had been successful at removing not only blood, but also several layers of skin. 

"I know," countered Peter. He wanted to continue, but didn't know how. 

"I just want to feel better... than... this." Roman sounded lost. The emptiness wasn't only in his words but also in the way that he said it, in his posture, in everything about him. Peter could practically smell it on him, although not in an easily definable way.  
They stood there for several more minutes, the pouring water the only constant. It would have been so easy to just reach over and crank the handle off, but Peter didn't want to. The spray against his back kept him present. 

And maybe that's what Roman needed.

"Here, let's try something." 

His words caused Roman's eyes to meet his own for just a split second, blue irises glancing up in confusion. It wasn't very hard to shift his friend, as his arm was already wrapped around the taller boy's back. Peter pulled Roman in a tight circle, both their shoes moving awkwardly over the squeaking slippery tub floor, until his friend was the one with his back against the shower. 

Now the shower was pelting against the back of Roman's head. The upir squinted his eyes, his eyebrows bent in puzzlement. 

"You need to get out of your head for a minute. Just focus on the water, nothing else."

Roman started to respond. "But..." whatever his words had planned to convey, they stopped short. He closed his mouth, deciding against it, and finally followed suit by closing his eyes as well. The water rained down upon him like the wrath of a storm and he allowed it, a subtle choke in his throat but otherwise still.

"That's good," Peter instructed. "Just breathe."

"Good?" An unexplainable darkness came over Roman's face and his eyes opened slowly, staring outward. "I'm not good. I'm a fucking monster. I'm a horrible fucking monster." His last words were accompanied by a noticeable jolt.

Peter put a hand on Roman's shoulder, feeling the tension through the other boy's wet shirt. "You're not a monster, come on."

There was a laugh from Roman. Short and dripping with doubt, as if he were setting up a wager he knew he was going to win. "Wanna bet?"

Peter didn't understand, but the wolf's hackles were beginning to raise. There was a new odor coming off of Roman, yet another unidentified smell. Except that wasn't entirely true... he had smelled if from Roman before... a couple of times, always right before...

He didn't have time to react. Roman's piercing blue eyes were on him and they were seizing onto him completely and entirely. Instinctively, Peter tried to pull away but was unable. The gaze was hypnotizing, as if he were being pulled under water and the only source of air was Roman. 

It was the first and only time that the upir had ever unleashed his power onto his friend. Not as though he had never thought about it... but he respected Peter far too much. But tonight... all bets were off. He had already fucked everything up. Why not fuck shit up even more? After all, this is what he was, wasn't it? A fucking monster?

As Roman stared into Peter's eyes he felt the last bit of his humanity dissipate. He wondered if it had ever been there in the first place or had only been something he had worn as a disguise. After all, he was a fake, wasn't he? He had taken four lives tonight in the span of a minute. What else could that mean? 

As he stared at the only person he had ever felt any real emotions toward, he pushed away that fake humanity, pushed away his conscience... and embraced the monster that he knew he really was. "You want me. Bad. Prove it to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Roman. I write nice scenes for you and this is how you respond? 
> 
> -Gentle readers, I have ideas for this story going in both ways. Dirty Roman or nice Roman. If you have a preference, let me know. I may or may not honor your request :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So things get dark in this chapter. Like... a lot darker. Warnings for non-con sexual content and general fucked-up-edness. PLEASE NOTE that I pushed this fic into an explicit rating.

Roman's words were like a wind tunnel. Once inside the vortex of the storm, it was impossible to see or hear anything outside of it. Peter was dimly aware that something wasn't quite right, but the part of his brain that recognized this was very far away. Like a fading dream, he couldn't grasp what it was. For a second, his vision went wonky and when the picture cleared, he found himself only inches away from Roman's ridiculously blue eyes. 

Peter sprang at Roman like a rattlesnake, their lips connecting with an audible smack. The water cascaded down onto them but if asked, Peter wouldn't have been able to tell you if the temperature of the flow was hot or cold.

Roman, on the other hand, was hot. Both figuratively and literally. The young gypsy already had one hand up the other boy's shirt and maintained a slippery grip against the side of his ribs. Roman's skin was warm and familiar beneath his hand. 

His other hand cupped against the side of the upir's face, soft and gentle, as he planted earnest kisses into the soft lips. Even Roman's lips, so full and pink they could almost be illegal, had an unfathomable heat emanating from within. Peter's mouth moved against them almost pleadingly, whimpering softly under his breath, because he wanted Roman to kiss him back just as affectionately.

But, unlike his body temperature, Roman was cold. Almost frozen, he allowed the other boy to suck and chew softly against his mouth. Allowed Peter's tongue to slide in between his lips, probing at his own tongue with an urgency he had never quite encountered with any of his previous partners. 

Roman had wanted this from the very first time he had set eyes on the Peter. So why, right now, did he feel so horrible? 

"What's wrong?" Peter whispered into his ear, his breath sending with it a tickle that shot directly down to Roman's groin. 

The upir shuddered in silent ecstasy, scolding himself not only for having done this to Peter, but for his body's own physical reactions. ' _You're a fucking whore, Godfrey.'_

Peter must have forgotten his question already, he was already back to wrapping his wet lips around Roman's as if the act were vital to his survival. Despite the extreme insistence on the gypsy's part, however, Peter remained ever-gentle. Even when he pushed Roman up against the back of the shower and pressed their soaked bodies together, he did so in the most tender and kind manner possible.

It made Roman feel even shittier about himself. 

Which was sort of the point.

The Godfrey heir was speechless as the warm body in the shape of Peter writhed up against him as he shed his coat. Wriggling out of the ruined leather sleeves like a serpent, their bodies never separated. Finally, the gypsy tossed it to the side where it landed with a splash in one of the many growing puddles on the floor. He next unbuttoned and tossed aside the tan vest, followed by his button-up thrift store shirt. In spite of himself, Roman couldn't help but be impressed with the ridiculously sensual way the other boy had accomplished these otherwise meaningless tasks. Now Peter's naked wet chest pressed against his drenched black Prada t-shirt and Roman wanted nothing more than to fuck the gypsy into oblivion. 

But he couldn't. Damn it all, he still couldn't move. Frozen in guilt he just stood there, feeling the cold tile against his back and the warm heat of Peter, all tight muscles and wiry stature, at his front. He could feel Peter's cock pressing into his thigh, just beneath his own erection and slightly to the right so that it dug hungrily into his pelvis, unknowingly hitting a particularly erogenous zone that was currently driving him up the wall.

Roman closed his eyes and bit his lip, feeling sensations like electric shocks coursing throughout his body. He must have gasped because Peter had caught on and was running his still-clothed dick softly over Roman's thigh. 

"You like that?" the scruffy-haired boy teased, a playful smile dancing on his lips.

Roman couldn't help himself. "Fucking hell," he panted, blue eyes in slits. The upir had seen Peter naked enough times to imagine how he looked underneath those deliciously wet pants, although none of their previous encounters involved Peter with a hard-on. 

_Just how much bigger was he now that he was fully erect?_

"Oh, God," the upir groaned, both out of arousal as well as frustration. Because as much as he wanted this... there was still something in his head that was stopping him from touching Peter. Even though he knew he could do anything he wanted and get away with it... just tell Peter to forget the entire thing after it was over... he couldn't force the muscles in his hands to move. One touch from his corrupt hands and Peter would be destroyed. Corrupted by the monster that Roman was.

So why couldn't he reason this out with his own dick? Completely uninterested in the dilemma working through his head, his body deliberately ignored his mental plight. Roman didn't think he had ever been as hard as he was right now, nor had he ever wanted someone as badly as he wanted the boy in front of him.

"What's going on?" Peter rubbed his thumb across Roman's cheek. "Don't you want this?"

When the taller boy answered, it was in monotone. "Don't you?" The subtlety was lost on Peter.

The brunette answered with smirk rather than actual words. His pale hands were on Roman's crotch now, causing the upir to instantaneously buck into the open palms. Peter's smirk grew. Expertly, he ran a hand up underneath Roman's shirt, holding his companion against the frosty tile as his other hand palmed Roman through his pants. 

The upir groaned again, prolonged and forceful. The sound emitting from his lungs was deeper than his normal speaking voice. The wolf inside Peter could distinguish the sexual energy vibrating through his vocal cords and it triggered Peter to work even harder, falling into a primal rhythm as he massaged and rubbed Roman's clothed-but-eager cock. 

All thoughts about how horrible he was went out the window. Roman was essentially unable to think at this point, except for how much he wanted Peter to keep doing what he was doing. He thrust into Peter's hand over and over, unable to stop himself. The only thing keeping him from slamming the werewolf against the opposing wall was the hand placed just against his heart that kept him pushed back against the tub and there was something incredibly, absurdly sexy about that. He was completely helpless to Peter, who, with just a few simple moves had forced Roman's hips to buck repeatedly into those hands as if they had a mind of their own. 

Roman had a admirable checklist of previous sexual partners, but none of them had ever managed to turn him on like this. Sex had always been fun, but not much more. A way to pass the time, maybe. But with Peter... he questioned whether or not he had ever truly felt lust before. Because this was lust. It filled up his head until he couldn't breathe and couldn't see and couldn't talk.

"How are you doing this?" Roman's words came out in a whisper. It was all he could manage with the level of lightheadedness he was currently feeling. "Have you done this before? To other guys, I mean?"

"Why? Jealous?" Peter chuckled, his eyes crinkling into perfect little emeralds and Roman practically _died_ because the look on his face was perfection incarnate. He _was_ jealous. He wanted this perfect boy all to himself.

 _And you can have him. Forever, if you want. Tell him to fuck you and to fall in love with you and never let on..._

_that this is all a lie._

Peter's hand was in his pants now and Roman felt like he was going to cry and he didn't know if it was because he was elated or feeling guilty. His body, as usual, ignored his feelings completely in favor of just being horny. 

Slender fingers wrapped around his swollen dick and he trembled slightly at the touch. Peter's skin was wet, but by now pretty much everything was wet anyway.

As if reading his mind, the gypsy echoed his thoughts. "You've gotten wet."

Roman pointed one single finger upward, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Shower."

"No, I mean..." Peter's voice was hushed, but there was a sense of playfulness to it. "You've already cum a bit. And when I say a bit... I mean..." The wolfy boy grinned. "A lot."

Nothing like a statement like that to snap someone out of the fog of ethical deliberation. "What?!.... No!" Roman's voice wavered precariously, feeling his cheeks go hot. "Should I remind you that we're in a shower? Things get...wet."

Peter just smirked, his hand still down Roman's pants. "If you say so." 

The upir was horrified. He couldn't have cum yet... he would have known. Wouldn't he? "But I haven't..." His response led much to be desired. He silently cursed himself.

"Calm down, I'm not suggesting what you think I'm suggesting." Peter's grin had gotten so big it seemed to take on a personage of its own. "It's just pre-cum. Granted, a _lot_ of pre-cum." He laughed, but his laugh held no ridicule. If anything, it was endearing. "Don't worry about it... it's kinda sexy."

Peter winked and Roman simultaneously felt his heart skip a beat. "Really?" His voice sounded dumb inside his head. In front of Peter, Roman felt endlessly unworthy.

The gypsy squinted his eyes and nodded his head. "Oh yeah." He squeezed the member in his hand gingerly before running his thumb slowly up the shaft, fingertip brushing over the head. Roman gasped audibly and Peter continued to slide over the tip, rubbing the pre-cum over his fingers. The clear fluid was dripping slowly down the other boy's fingers and down Roman's shaft. 

Peter's voice dropped to a whisper and he lifted his lips to Roman's ear. "I could smell it, the second your dick started to leak. It happened while you were thrusting over and over again, into my hand."

"But how could you... I mean... that doesn't sound very sexy." Roman's lips pursed into a defiant pout.

"Wolf senses, remember? And yes, it really is." There was an airiness in the way that Peter talked. It didn't sound like him.

But it was. Sort of. It was Peter's body, at least. And couldn't that be enough?

Stuck with his thoughts... trapped with his doubts... he hadn't even noticed that Peter had unzipped the rich boy's slacks and let them cascade partially down his legs. By now soaked and clinging to his pale legs, they traveled to his thighs and there they stubbornly stayed. Constricted only by the tight stretchy material of his Calvin Klein boxer-briefs, his erection pushed hungrily against the cotton barrier, aching for Peter's touch. 

In a single fluid motion, the gypsy pulled the wet defiant slacks down several inches and ran his hand back up the inside of Roman's right leg. His hand, soft and yet callused right beneath the fingers, was enough to cause the upir to quiver in ecstasy as it brushed against his inner thigh. "Your legs are something else..." he said in awe. 

_'You have the legs for it.'_

A voice from the past rushed through his mind, but he couldn't quite remember who had given him the complement. The memory brought with it another rush of guilt. Why was he thinking about this now?

The water raining down from the faucet had gone cold at some point. It felt like standing in the rain. Roman struggled for breath but it had nothing to do with the drop in temperature. He felt his brain shifting into some kind of free floating panic mode. 

_Why are you doing this? Stop this nonsense now before you hurt someone else._ This voice sounded distinctly like something his mother would say. 

But he couldn't stop, just as much as he couldn't stop his cock from reacting in the way that it was. He could only stare down at the top of Peter's beautiful head with an expression of absolute nothingness. Watch the other boy tug at his boxer briefs until his aching dick was released from its fabric prison. 

He had done it dozens of times before. Shit, it felt like hundreds but who was keeping track? He knew the routine. Warm hand or wet mouth, back and forth until he came or moved on to more intimate transgressions. The person wasn't the point, just the orgasm. Just the rush.

So why... now that Peter's hand was on his naked flesh... now that he was completely exposed... did he feel so conflicted? 

"You are gorgeous," Peter said, his words soft as fucking velvet. "Did you know that?"

Roman didn't know if the smooth-talking gypsy was talking about him as a whole or his now-exposed member, but he couldn't bring himself to agree. He knew the real truth. He was ugly as sin.

Monstrous.

How could he take something as perfect as Peter and corrupt him with just a single sentence? Only someone ugly and heartless would ever do something like that. Someone like him.

But not today. He loved Peter too much today - and probably would forever - even if the other boy never forgave him for this.

Which was probably good. He didn't deserve forgiveness. In fact, he wasn't going to make any attempts to hide the truth. The day had started with a casual quadruple homicide and ended with an attempt to force a sexual act on his best friend. Frankly, he hoped that Peter would transform and release his wolf on him once he knew the truth. 

He knew he was ugly. Being ripped to shreds seemed a fitting end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to straddle the line between making this hot while keeping it disturbing. Actually really hard to do. Hopefully this more or less hit the mark.
> 
> Oh. And about that whole pre-cum thing... I don't know. My brain is amused by weird things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Hurt/comfort really shows in this one. It's what I do.

Roman had never seen Peter's eyes look like that.

Both feral and lost. Angry and deadened at the same time. The way that he breathed... long and deep like he was filling his lungs with judgments and hatred and rage.

The upir had pulled himself together as best as could be expected before he woke Peter up. Had tucked his still-hard dick back into his clothing and fastened his slacks around his waist, slippery hands stumbling awkwardly in the process. When he had said the words, releasing his friend from the confines of his spell, he had done so with the knowledge that his actions had quite possibly changed everything. He didn't tell Peter to forget. He could have... but he chose not to.

And now he was facing the consequences. Which was good. Which was what he deserved.

Except that he hadn't considered the fact that maybe... the truth hurt other people too.

The first punch was easy. He barely even felt it. Peter's fist connected with the side of his nose and jolted his face to the right. His neck took the brunt of it, something like whiplash that pulled furiously at the muscles in his neck and shot stars of light into his eyes. Then, pins and needles as he slowly pulled his head back, the only sensation in his nose a slight throbbing and the familiar feeling of a nosebleed beginning it's forward march from deep within his sinuses. 

The second punch was harder and hit him square in the jaw, sending him backwards, although only by a foot or so. The back of his head hit the shower tile with a sickening crunch, leaving a red splatter of blood that immediately began racing down the slippery surface toward the drain. Matching red liquid leaked from somewhere behind his teeth, dribbling down his chin and further staining his ruined shirt. 

He grinned... or at least he thought he might have grinned. The room was spinning and the world was closing in upon him, and he really couldn't be sure what was actually happening. There was some sort of sound... a quiet squeaking and he wondered deliriously if he was hearing the call of some hell-beast come to collect him and drag him down to the confines of Hell... and he couldn't quite grasp the fact that he was sliding down the side of the tub until Peter's arm had snatched out and grabbed him by the neck.

\-----------------

Truth be told, Peter hadn't known what to do. He hadn't known whether to be angry or horrified or simply baffled. When Roman "woke him up", his world was enveloped in confusion. He could still remember everything, which was the most perplexing part. His own dick was hard. In spite of everything, part of him still wanted to keep going. 

But that part had quickly faded in favor of the reality of the situation. Goddamn Roman, who just took what he wanted as if everything was naturally his in the first place. Peter had known that the other boy was attracted to him from the very beginning, and it hadn't taken the wolf's adept senses to figure it out. When Peter had transformed, the first time, in front of Roman, the smell of the upir's excitement had been almost too much to even take in - it was so strong. And yet Peter had ignored it. Pretended it didn't exist because he didn't like to make things complicated, and he had wanted a friend so badly. 

But did it really have to come to this? This fucking display of pure selfish manipulation? Before tonight, Peter would have never expected that Roman might use his powers on him, and _that_ was the part that really hurt. He didn't even care that much about the sexual acts he had been coerced into. Not really. It wasn't like he grew up with imposing Christian values or any of that bullshit.

Fuck. He'd probably have given Roman a handjob if the dumbass had just asked. More than anything, he felt betrayed. 

And that was when he threw the first punch, and then the second. And then instantly regretted it.

\-----------------------------

Holding awkwardly onto the upir, his entire arm branched around Roman's neck like some new-age pillow, Peter had to slide his foot forward into the back of the tub to hold both himself and Roman up. The water was still cascading down upon the two of them and Peter reached out frustratedly and turned the faucet off with his free hand. His knees rubbed painfully against the ivory where his jeans were ripped out, and he didn't even notice.

"Why the fuck did you have to do that?" Peter screamed toward the limp and motionless boy, who gave no response save for the faintest flickering of eyelids over hazy blue eyes. Peter's own eyes were filled with tears, and they gushed down his cheeks as quickly as the blood gushed from Roman's wounds.

As furious as he had been in the moment... he hadn't meant to hurt Roman. Not really, not like this. He had miscalculated. Hadn't factored in the tile behind Roman's head before he sent the punch into his face. And now the pale boy leaned limply backward, his neck still held awkwardly in the crook of the gypsy's arms. Dark red blood dripping down the tile behind him. Brighter red gushing from Roman's nose and trickling out of his mouth. The feel of sticky blood on Peter's arm where he held the other boy's head.

"Fuck!" Peter cried out to no one in particular, because the only other people in the hotel room were either dead or unconscious. 

If Roman stayed in this position too much longer, the blood from his nose would pool back into his nasal cavity which probably wouldn't be good. Either way, the wound on the back of his skull needed attention badly. 

Roman had fucked up, there was no denying that. But now wasn't the time for chastising. If Peter still wanted his friend alive - which he did - he needed to act now. 

"Ok." Peter sighed. He allowed himself a deep breath and a second to compose his thoughts, and then began to pull the other boy out of the tub.

\---------

Roman awoke to wet sheets underneath him and the scent of death surrounding him. It made his eyes sting and his mouth water. His head throbbed something fierce.

The room was dark with the exception of the flicker of a streetlamp shooting through window shades and onto the carpet. There was a dark figure sitting very close to him on the bed, causing an indent in the mattress that his body naturally leaned into. Although he could only see the figure as a black form, he knew instantaneously that it was Peter and he reached out instinctively.

"Fucking hell!" The form jumped off the bed as if Roman's touch had burned him.

"Peter?" Roman's voice was slow. Confused.

A lamp switched on beside Roman's head and the upir flinched, the sudden light hurting his eyes. Through blurry vision, he could make out Peter's expression and couldn't understand. 

Until he did. 

It all came back like a horrible nightmare. The shower. The coercion. The massive, horrific, fuck-up. _He_ was the reason that Peter was now looking at him like this. As if he were a monster. Now Peter saw it too.

Why in the holy Hell hadn't Peter just wolfed out and killed him? Goddammit. Roman closed his eyes as if it would shut out everything. Make it all just go away. 

The room was silent for a very long time. He felt the mattress wobble as Peter sat down again, next to him, and Roman wondered why. When the other boy finally spoke it was with a calm resolve. Roman had fallen in love with that calm resolve. Had fallen in love and then taken advantage and then fucked everything up. He shuddered.

"After everything... happened," Peter spoke. "I could still remember everything, you know? And do you know what I remember more than anything?"

Instead of answering, Roman just stared at the other boy. Any words he might have said were gone, swallowed by regret and self-hatred.

"The taste of blood on your tongue. Other people's blood. Their blood." He gestured at the bodies littering the carpet. Roman didn't respond and Peter kept going. "And afterward... after all this happened, I kept thinking... shit. He's an upir, that's what he does. Drink people up until there's nothing left. And that's what you did to me."

"I didn't want to."

Peter laughed and he shook his head, tresses of still-damp brunette hair dancing back and forth. He stared at Roman for a moment, a grin on his mouth but not in his eyes. "Don't pull that shit with me. Of course you wanted to."

"I mean... I _wanted_ to, but not like that. There's something wrong with me. Something really wrong." Against his willpower, his eyes began to tear up. "I don't know what's wrong with me." His tears came harder now as his voice choked up and within seconds he was bawling. "I can't stop, I don't know how to stop! I don't want to be... this."

Peter watched him, shaking and crying and looking every bit like a lost little boy. Except that he wasn't. Not really. What he actually _was_ , however... an upir that didn't know how to be an upir. Formerly a human who didn't know what it was to be human. Surviving on base impulses and desires all these years and now his impulses told him to kill and fuck. 

The gypsy sighed. "Why don't you just try to get some rest? Your head is all bashed up, you're not thinking straight." He didn't mention that he agreed with Roman's diagnosis of himself. There _was_ something wrong with him, but whether the problem was his upir-ness or the fact that he had been raised by a self-important narcissist was all speculation.

Roman sniffed and settled gracelessly into the sheets beneath him. The pillow beneath his head was wet from blood and damp hair and it made a repulsive squishing sound as he moved. He stared up into the ceiling, feeling his skull pound and hoping he'd just bleed out and be done with all of this. "I'm sorry," he spoke into the still air.

Peter took a second before answering. "I know." He stood there for a second longer before leaving. Disappeared into the bathroom like a dog tip-toeing quietly away. 

Roman sniffed again. Wiped his eyes on the collar of his shirt... also marked with dried blood. His own or someone else's? It smelt like someone else's. Fuck it all. His eyes were tired and blurry and he couldn't keep them open any longer so he closed them. 

He barely heard Peter come back into the room. Barely felt his head being lifted and a fresh towel pressed up against the fresh wound. Somewhere in his mind he realized that he should have felt it. It should have been painful and raw but it was dull and almost comforting. The pressure stayed for several minutes, during which he drifted in and out of consciousness periodically. When it stopped, and his head was placed gently back against the pillow - now covered by the stiff fibers of the towel - he felt a relief like he hadn't experienced in forever. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, practically feeling his stress breaking up and leaving his body.

He had almost fallen back to sleep when the mattress vibrated slightly. He felt a warm body climb into the bed next to him and beat the neighboring pillow into submission before laying down.

"Don't get any wrong ideas, you horndog. I just need some shut-eye. Wake me up if you start hemorrhaging or something."

"Aren't you afraid I'm gonna bite you?" Roman hated the way his voice sounded. His words slurred together into a horribly unsexy garbled mess.

"Naw," the gypsy replied. "I'm pretty sure I could take you, what with your new-found brain damage and all."

Roman laughed despite himself. For just a second, it seemed like old times. Was it possible that their friendship wasn't entirely fucked? Although he knew he didn't deserve it, he ached for shit to be back to normal again. "Do you think..." he ventured "we can just forget about what happened?"

Peter was quiet for a while. "Forget? No. But get passed it? If you keep your dick in your pants that would be a good start. And if you ever roofie-eye me again I swear you will no longer possess a cock."

"Good enough for me," Roman responded quickly.

"You know, I do actually care about you, dumbass." Peter's stated. "We'll figure this out. The compulsive killing thing, I mean. I feel like we have an understanding over the sexual creeper thing."

Roman's voice was quiet. "What if I can't control it? The killing, I mean."

"We'll figure something out."

With a sigh, Roman settled back into the pillow, the smell of death still in his nostrils. He knew that Peter must smell it too, the bodies weren't going anywhere until the morning. At least the odor didn't make Peter salivate like it did for him. One of the bodies still had a trace of blood left in the veins and it reminded him that he was still hungry.

Hungry... but with a start he suddenly realized that he could deal with it. As tough as this was, he could ride it out. Because Peter was laying next to him and as much as he wanted to jump to the floor and suck the last remaining juices out of the cadaver, he wanted to stay with Peter more. Lay next to him and feel the warmth emanating from him and just _be._

He'd fucked up. Fucked up big, even. But maybe... if Peter believed in him, even despite all of his transgressions... maybe it would be ok. Maybe he'd be ok.

Roman fell asleep to this thought, the comforting weight of Peter beside him. The gypsy watched the other boy's sleeping face for a moment, before reaching over to dab the towel against Roman's jaw, where his nose had bled and then trickled down. Satisfied enough with his work, he leaned back against his own mashed-up pillow and closed his eyes.

A werewolf and an upir, sleeping on a bed in the shittiest hotel in Hemlock Grove, surrounded by bodies. It was so macabre that it was almost a joke. Same thing with the relationship that they shared with each other. Roman was so damaged he was practically incapable of ever resembling normal, and as for Peter himself... he'd never known an ordinary day in his life. They were almost made for each other in some twisted way. They'd either end up destroying each other or saving each other but, one way or another, they were meant to be together.

And that, Peter realized, was the bloody truth.

The end.


End file.
